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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28041609">day to night to morning</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/brosnyaa/pseuds/brosnyaa'>brosnyaa</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinesing/pseuds/pinesing'>pinesing</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Inspired by Kate and Leopold, M/M, Slow Burn, can't believe that was already a tag!, ish, this is a romcom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 11:20:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,466</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28041609</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/brosnyaa/pseuds/brosnyaa, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinesing/pseuds/pinesing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Hubert von Vestra is a modern day lawyer. Ferdinand von Aegir, soon to be Duke Aegir, is a confirmed bachelor from the late 1800s. Neither of them have time or place for falling in love, until a rip in the fabric of time thrusts Ferdinand into modern-day Enbarr. </p><p>Kate and Leopold AU. Romcom, with footnotes.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>124</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s a beautiful night, a crisp wind whipping around the cables of Enbarr’s most recognizable bridge, its silhouette lit by arc lamps against the dark sky. Five figures stand on it. Their shapes nearly blend into the dark, except for the glint of moonlight on metal. The two in the center keep their backs stiff and straight as they walk ten paces away from each other, then wait at the wrought-iron railing. The fifth member drops a handkerchief into the wind, and then there are two shots in swift succession and a loud cry.</p><p>Ferdinand Von Aegir did not intend to end this night by losing a duel, but sometimes fate has other things in store. Vaguely, through the sudden shock of pain, he wonders what his father will think, how he will mitigate the scandal when he finds out. He’ll be more worried about the stain on the family name than what happens to his son to be sure. Ferdinand staggers back against the railing. The wound is in his shoulder— he can already tell it isn’t lethal. A second chance! He raises his gun and pushes off the railing, and discovers:</p><p>It’s a gate, improperly secured. It opens, and— </p><p>He falls.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"I need a list of their pending litigation on my desk and ready for review by the time I get back to the office. And arrange a call with opposing counsel - preferably for this week, next Monday if this week is impossible," Hubert says. He's walking along the river, heading back to his office from a lunch meeting. "Edelgard's eager to keep this acquisition moving, and I won't disappoint her."</p><p>At a loud, panicked response from his assistant, Hubert holds his phone away from his ear and sighs. "No, it was <em> Linhardt's </em> job. He should have the list drafted already; just ask him. If he doesn't have it ready, tell him he's fired."</p><p>Hubert suddenly stops walking, staring at something up ahead</p><p>"I'll have to call you back, Bernadetta," he says. "Someone's climbing out of the river."</p><p>The someone in question is a dripping mass of tangled hair and fabric, dragging themself out onto the bank with one arm limp against their side. The movement is halting and slow, like whoever it is has to stop for a breath after each pull and release of muscle. They’re still partially in the water when they seem to give up entirely and collapse on the grass.</p><p>Hubert takes that as his cue to approach. "Pardon," he calls, "Can you read?"</p><p>The person rolls over, eyes closed, breathing laboriously. Red hair pools around their head, caught in the current. “Excuse me?” they ask. </p><p>Hubert points to a sign posted along the river every twenty feet or so. "<em>'No swimming, fishing, or boating' </em>," he reads in a dry tone. "I was merely wondering if you were ever taught to read, or if you just enjoy swimming where you shouldn't."</p><p>Ferdinand coughs, something dark dribbling out of his mouth. “My apologies for falling from a <em> bridge </em>,” he mutters, half to himself. “How extremely rude of me. I won’t do it again.”</p><p>Hubert glances up at the silhouette of the old bridge  — it's far upstream from where they are now. If the man really fell, he must have drifted a ways before finally finding the will to climb out. And then there's the question of how someone managed to <em>fall </em>from a bridge like that...Hubert frowns and looks back down at the man before him. He's dressed in some sort of costume, extravagant beneath the river water and mud. It's not the sort of outfit one wore when jumping to their death, but Hubert can't imagine how the man could have <em> fallen </em> if it hadn't been intentional.</p><p>"Don't move," he says. "I'm calling you an ambulance."</p><p>“No—” Ferdinand says, pulling his uninjured hand away from his chest to reach for Hubert. It’s covered in blood and glints in the sunlight. “No, I will be fine, you don’t need to go to the trouble.” </p><p>Hubert blames the muddy red of the man's clothes for not noticing the blood sooner. With a muttered curse under his breath, he crouches beside the man. "I find that hard to believe. You're bleeding. Where were you hurt?"</p><p>Ferdinand blinks, then sighs. “My left shoulder,” he says. “It was only grazed, but I seem to be losing a lot of blood.”</p><p>"Keep applying pressure. I don't care what you say; I'm calling an ambulance." Before the man can protest again, Hubert has his phone out and is dialing the emergency number. It's a quick call— he relays the situation and their relative location in the park, receives some short instructions, and it's done. </p><p>“I suppose I must be grateful,” Ferdinand says, his eyes closed. He’s tired. Every part of his body aches, and he feels drained, woozy, like something isn’t quite right.</p><p>"Yes, well," Hubert sighs, checking his watch, "As long as the ambulance is here quickly, I suppose it's not too much trouble."</p><p>Something definitely isn’t right. Ferdinand can’t quite put his finger on it— the entire world is hazy. “May I… ask your name?” he asks. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you before.” </p><p>Hubert raises an eyebrow. "Hubert Von Vestra. And yours?"</p><p>“I am Ferdinand von Aegir,” Ferdinand says, and then he passes out. </p><p> </p><p>—-</p><p> </p><p>When he wakes up, it’s to bright, bright lights and a curious rhythmic noise in the back of his head, almost musical in its tone and consistency— or it would be if it weren’t so goddess-damned annoying. It speeds up as he groans and blinks, then speeds up more as he takes in his surroundings, building up to a crescendo as he realizes he has no idea where he is. </p><p>He’s in a strange metal bed, in a strange paper gown, surrounded by strange metal contraptions— one of which feeds into his arm. His heart rate spiking (and along with it, that infernal noise), he reaches down and rips it out, setting off a cacophony of shrill screeching around him.  </p><p>“Am I dead?” he asks, out loud, and slaps himself. It hurts, so he winces, then swings himself out of bed and trips over another set of strange tubes. He nearly lands face first on the floor, but catches himself against some kind of lit-up screen, causing another alarm to go off. </p><p>“Excuse me, sir, what are you doing? You can’t be getting up yet!” comes a voice— a man stops in the door with a clipboard, then reaches for Ferdinand.</p><p>“Where am I?” Ferdinand gasps, stumbling away from him, back towards the bed. “Who are you?” </p><p>“You’re at Enbarr Regional,” the man says, tucking the clipboard under his arm and holding his hands up in front of him. “The hospital?” he continues, after Ferdinand shows no sign of recognition.</p><p>“Hospital?” Ferdinand asks. “This is a hospital? It looks like Frankenstein’s laboratory! What in the world are you <em> doing </em> to me?” </p><p>“Please sit down, sir,” the man says. </p><p>“No!” says Ferdinand.</p><p>“You’ll aggravate your wound— you need rest to heal it,” he insists.</p><p>“I want to speak to your supervisor! Who is in charge here?” Ferdinand snaps. </p><p>“Sir, I don’t want to call security, but I need you to stop struggling.” </p><p>Before the situation has a chance to escalate further, a smooth, faintly familiar voice sounds from just outside the room. "Bernadetta, I don't see why we need to—"</p><p>The voice’s owner cuts off abruptly when he stops in the doorway, sharp green eyes quickly taking stock of the situation. A second, smaller figure runs into his back at the sudden stop.</p><p>"Hubert? What is it? Why'd you— oh, what's going on?"</p><p>Hubert eyes the showdown happening between Ferdinand and the orderly, one eyebrow raised. "It seems this is a bad time," he says, mildly. "We should come back later."</p><p>“You!” Ferdinand says, pointing. </p><p>“Oh, thank the goddess,” the orderly mutters.</p><p>"Me, indeed. What are you doing up?" Hubert asks. "Get back in bed."</p><p>“Absolutely not!” Ferdinand snaps. “This is no hospital, this is— this is some obscene torture chamber!” </p><p>Hubert looks at the orderly. "Can't you give him something to knock him out?" </p><p>“Legally, no,” the orderly says. </p><p>“Unhand me!” Ferdinand snaps, pushing the orderly away from him. </p><p>“Goddess, you are loud,” a woman drawls, pushing in past Hubert and Bernadetta. “What’s going on here?” </p><p>“Dr. Manuela,” the orderly sighs in relief. </p><p>“Isn’t this our John Doe gunshot wound patient? Why is he up?” Dr. Manuela asks, rubbing her temples. </p><p>“John Doe?” Ferdinand asks. “Who?” </p><p>"<em>You </em>, idiot," Hubert says, "It's a placeholder. They don't know your name. What was it again?"</p><p>“Ferdinand von Aegir,” Ferdinand says. He stands up straighter, trying to push his hair into some semblance of order. The tie in it is long gone, probably lost to the river. Shame. It was velvet.</p><p>“Well, Mister Von Aegir,” Dr. Manuela says, clearly only half-listening, “You aren’t supposed to be up and about for at least another day. Miles, add a note on mental distress to his chart, will you?”</p><p>The orderly— Miles— nods and scurries away. </p><p>“Madame Doctor,” Ferdinand says, “Though this is much… cleaner… than the hospitals I am used to, I fail to see the point of your infernal tubes and machines. I would like to leave at once and recover at home.” </p><p>“And where is your home?” Dr. Manuela asks, shooing him. Ferdinand rattles off an address, sitting back down on the bed.</p><p>“That’s a museum,” Dr. Manuela says, looking it up on some device in her hand. She turns to Hubert, briefly giving him an unsubtle once-over. “I can release him, but he’ll need someone to take him to his <em> actual </em> home, see that he gets there, sign off on the papers.” </p><p>"I'd rather not get involved in this," Hubert says. "I'm sure his family will come looking for him eventually."</p><p>“You’re listed as his contact, honey,” Dr. Manuela says, raising an eyebrow. “Got it from the ambulance boys.” </p><p>"Excuse me?" Hubert asks.</p><p>"Oh, Mr. Von Vestra, can't you just sign his papers? He might not have anyone else!" the girl that came in with Hubert— Bernadetta— says.</p><p>"I don't even know where he lives! How exactly am I supposed to see that he gets home if no one even knows where that <em> is </em>?"</p><p>“I know my way home!” Ferdinand insists. “I don’t need help!”</p><p>Dr. Manuela rolls her eyes. In what must be a flagrant breach of hospital policy, she hands the papers to Bernadetta. “Just sign. There, you’re discharged. Now, I’m hungover, so take your friends and get out of my sight before you make my headache worse.” </p><p>Bernadetta squeaks in surprise when a clipboard is suddenly shoved at her, then blinks down at the discharge papers and signs. </p><p>"Well, that settles that," Hubert says. "We came to make sure he's alright— clearly, he's fine. And quite capable of finding his own way home. Let's go, Bernadetta." </p><p>"But—" Bernadetta says, stopping and biting her lip. </p><p>"You don't need our help, do you, Ferdinand?" Hubert asks.</p><p>Ferdinand sniffs. “Of course not. Why on earth would I need your help?” he says, wincing as he wobbles towards the pile of clothes next to the bed. He glances at them in disdain, the cotton garments clearly ones provided by the hospital rather than his own nicer outfit. Though, he supposes, it was probably disgusting at this point. </p><p>"There, see? You heard him. Now, let's go." </p><p>"Mr. Von Vestra!" Bernadetta says, then, "Sorry! Sorry. I didn't mean to yell. I just— it's just— he's clearly <em> not </em>fine! You can at least give him a ride, can't you?"</p><p>"What, to his museum?" Hubert glowers at Bernadetta and she manages to shy away only a little. Finally, he sighs. "<em>Fine </em>. We can give him a ride."</p><p>Ferdinand sniffs, picking up the clothes and holding them in one arm. He gives Bernadetta a considering look. “Apologies, dear lady, it seems no introductions have been made. My name is Ferdinand von Aegir. May I enquire unto yours?” </p><p>Bernadetta stifles a nervous giggle behind a hand and shoots Hubert a surprised look. "Um, Bernadetta von Varley. Pleasure to meet you."</p><p>“The pleasure is mine,” Ferdinand says. “Now, where do I change? You cannot expect me to leave this place half dressed.”</p><p>Hubert glances down at Ferdinand's hospital robes, the corners of his lips twitching up in faint amusement. "Bathroom's next door."</p><p>“Thank you,” Ferdinand sniffs again, and makes his way to the door, slowly. He feels woozy, his head spinning. It must be the effect of those tubes. </p><p>Bernadetta steps aside to let him pass, but Hubert doesn't move, letting Ferdinand go around him instead. Ferdinand frowns and stumbles into him slightly, on purpose. In response, Hubert only chuckles and watches Ferdinand go, something shrewd and satisfied in his gaze. </p><p>When he steps out of the room, Ferdinand stops, blinking. “What on earth…?” he breathes, standing still. </p><p>Bernadetta bites her lip and stares after Ferdinand. "Is he...okay?"</p><p>"Who knows. Left, Von Aegir," Hubert says.</p><p>"Hubert! You should be nicer!"</p><p>“Left,” Ferdinand murmurs, eyes wide. He totters into the corridor, then left, flinching at a particularly loud beep from a nearby room. “It’s so bright,” he says. </p><p>Bernadetta nudges Hubert after Ferdinand as hard as she dares— that is to say, not very. "Shouldn't you...help him?" Bernadetta asks. </p><p>"Put his <em> clothes on </em>? Absolutely not. I'm sure he'll get there on his own, eventually."</p><p>“Excuse me,” Ferdinand says, turning back to Hubert and Bernadetta. He has a weird expression on his face, looking slightly dazed. “Which one is the washroom?”</p><p>"Oh, for—" Hubert starts, then cuts off with a sharp sigh. He heads over to Ferdinand and starts ushering him down the hall. "Right there. Come on."</p><p>“What— it’s so bright,” he says again, letting Hubert push him. </p><p>“Yes, that would be the lights,” Hubert says dryly. He knocks on the door of the private bathroom and when he receives no response, opens it for Ferdinand. “I trust that you can handle this part yourself?”</p><p>“Ah,” Ferdinand says. “Um. Actually, it seems I cannot raise my arm above my head. If you could— If you don’t mind,” he stutters, then waits. </p><p>Hubert simply stares back a long moment, then glances quickly up and down the hallway before pushing Ferdinand into the bathroom and following him inside. "Fine, fine, let's just make this quick."</p><p>Ferdinand blinks, his view suddenly full of Hubert’s shoulders, which look strong despite his narrow build. The man is taller than him by a few inches, and he swallows and looks away when he gets a glimpse of collarbone between his lapels. “My thanks,” he says, sighs, and drops the hospital gown to the ground. </p><p>Hubert's gaze instinctively tracks the flimsy fabric as it flutters down, then tracks back up Ferdinand's body. He clears his throat and looks away, over at the pile of clothing Ferdinand had set down. He grabs the boxers and sweatpants and thrusts them wordlessly at Ferdinand, not daring to look his way again. Ferdinand takes them, more gently than Hubert was expecting, and pauses. “What— are these supposed to fit me?” he asks, holding up the underwear Hubert handed him. “They’re tiny!”</p><p>Hubert gapes at Ferdinand, then at the boxers in his hand. Then, <em> completely </em>against his own will, his gaze drops lower. </p><p>Ferdinand slaps him. </p><p>It <em> stings </em> instantly— Ferdinand didn't hold back. Hubert swears and holds his cheek, which had been turning faintly red even <em> before </em> the slap. "What in the flameswas that for?"</p><p>“Your impropriety!” Ferdinand hisses. “I asked a simple question, and you choose to… to… to <em> ogle </em> me!”</p><p>"<em>Ogle you </em> ?" Hubert splutters. "I wasn't— you're the one insisting I help you dress! And you're the one who— who <em> stripped </em> in front of me without warning! Now you're going to pretend you don't know how elastic works?"</p><p>“You said you would help me—” Ferdinand starts, then pauses. “Elastic?” he asks, eyebrows drawing together as if the word is unfamiliar. </p><p>Hubert tears the boxers out of Ferdinand's hand and holds them in front of his face, stretching the waistband in an exaggerated demonstration. "Elastic. You know, it <em>stretches</em>. If I—" Hubert pauses and exhales a sharp breath, "—<em>ogled you</em>, it was with disbelief that you were packing something so <em>inordinately impressive</em> that you wouldn't fit in a reasonably sized pair of boxers! Now I see that I was correct in my disbelief and ask you to please put. These. On."</p><p>Ferdinand’s face does something very complicated, then, as his clear anger at Hubert for impugning his dignity wars with immediate fascination with the stretchiness of the boxers. He takes them from Hubert and stretches them a few times experimentally, then pulls them on, tugging them to see how far they expand. “Well,” he says, choosing to ignore Hubert’s tirade with a sniff, “I think these will do. But really, I have never seen clothing like this. Where <em> are </em> we? I thought myself in Enbarr!”</p><p>Hubert sighs and hands Ferdinand the sweatpants, next. He's still stiff as a board, red in the face, and radiating indignation, but he seems to have relaxed slightly now that Ferdinand is at least clothes. "You <em> are </em>in Enbarr. By any chance, did the nurses mention anything about a concussion?" </p><p>“No, they did not,” Ferdinand says. “A gunshot wound and subsequent bruising, as well as apparently amnesia.” He bristles. “I am not amnesiac, I can assure you. And this is <em> not </em> Enbarr.” </p><p>"If you insist," Hubert says, holding out the final item of clothing, a T-shirt with some random sports logo. "Hold your arms out."</p><p>Ferdinand does, wincing when it pulls on his bandage. Hubert is surprisingly gentle as he guides the shirt up and over Ferdinand's shoulders, careful not to touch or jostle him any more than necessary. When the shirt is over his head and tugged down into place, Hubert hesitates, then gathers up the long curls trapped under the shirt collar and gently tugs them free, his fingers just barely brushing against Ferdinand's neck.</p><p>“Thank you,” Ferdinand says, pinching the shirt and pulling at it. He avoids looking at Hubert— his face feels hot for some reason. It’s been a long time since anyone touched his hair like that. “Is everything made of elastic here?” </p><p>Hubert scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous. Only the cheap stuff.”</p><p>“I see,” Ferdinand says, though he clearly doesn’t. “Where are my shoes?” he asks. </p><p>“Back in the room, I’m sure,” Hubert says, opening the door for Ferdinand. </p><p>“Thank you,” Ferdinand says, limping back into the hallway. He smiles at Bernadetta. </p><p>Bernadetta smiles back, half-looking like she wants to bolt and half-looking like she wants to burst out laughing. “It was nice of you to help, Mr. Von Vestra."</p><p>Hubert shoots her a withering look and she takes a small step behind Ferdinand, using him as a shield.</p><p>“Right, then,” Ferdinand says, oblivious, taking his shoes and pulling them on. The leather is probably ruined by the river, but he will be damned before he complains. His hair falls across his shoulders far more fetchingly than hospital-dried river hair should. “I suppose I will be going.” </p><p>Hubert half-sighs, half-says, "I already offered to give you a ride."</p><p>“Oh! I didn’t think you meant it. Thank you!” Ferdinand says, turning and giving Hubert a blinding smile. </p><p>Hubert takes in Ferdinand's smile, flushes, scowls, and heads down the hall without another word.</p><p>"Oh!" Bernadetta says, scrambling to pick up the bag she had set down. "Guess it's time to go!"</p><p>“Please, my lady, lead the way,” Ferdinand says, bowing to Bernadetta. </p><p>"Uh, sure," Bernadetta says, looking like she's torn between laughing and running again, "Um, my Lord?"</p><p>“Yes,” Ferdinand says, smiling. “I am a marquess.”</p><p>"Oh, there's no way I can say that seriously! 'My Lord' is just too embarrassing! Can't I just call you Ferdinand if I let you call me Bernadetta?"</p><p>"Stop humoring him, Bernadetta," Hubert calls over his shoulder. "Would both of you get moving? Enough of my afternoon has been eaten as it is."</p><p>“Bernadetta, then,” Ferdinand says. “After you.” </p><p>He follows her down the hallway, through a bustling lobby, and out onto the street, and then he stops. </p><p>“Goddess,” he whispers. </p><p>Tall metal buildings that curve and stretch for the sky. Brightly colored automobiles. People in clothes he’s never seen before, speaking in languages he’s never heard, flashing unknown devices about as they walk. Noise from every corner. Ferdinand takes a step back and bumps into someone exiting the hospital, then spins to the side. “Apologies,” he mutters, or maybe he doesn’t, or maybe the other person does. He’s not sure of anything at all right now except his heart beating in his ears. </p><p>"Ferdinand? Uh, Ferdinand? Are you okay?" Bernadetta asks, reaching a hand out but not quite touching him.</p><p>Hubert has stopped to watch Ferdinand as well, a small furrow appearing between his brows.</p><p>“This is not Enbarr,” Ferdinand says, weakly. </p><p>"Let's just get to Hubert's car, okay? I always feel better in confined spaces. I'm sure that'll help you, too," Bernadetta says.</p><p>Ferdinand nods, limping after her. When they round the corner, he catches sight of the walls of the palace against the sky, a sight that Enbarr is known for. </p><p>“Oh, no,” he says. </p><p>Hubert follows his gaze, then raises an eyebrow at Ferdinand. </p><p>“It looks so old,” Ferdinand says, quiet. </p><p>"It's stood for over a hundred years, of course it looks old," Hubert says. There's no mocking in his tone, for once. He just watches Ferdinand with an unreadable expression.</p><p>“But— but I was there when they finished it,” Ferdinand says, turning wide eyes on Hubert. </p><p>Bernadetta frowns, glancing at Hubert questioningly. Hubert doesn't acknowledge the look. "Come, Ferdinand," he says. "You're concussed and confused. I'm sure you'll feel better once we have you somewhere familiar."</p><p>Ferdinand takes a step back, shaking his head. “What year is it?”</p><p>Hubert purses his lips and clearly considers not answering. "2020," he says, finally.</p><p>Ferdinand freezes, and then he gets angry. “You’re lying,” he says, looking back at the castle. “You have to be lying to me. Is this your version of a— of some twisted prank?” </p><p>"I don't <em>prank</em>," Hubert says flatly, "And even if I did, why would I go to such absurd lengths to prank a man I'd never met?"</p><p>“But,” Ferdinand says, “but then,” he repeats, and then his eyes roll back up into his skull as he collapses onto the sidewalk. </p><p>Bernadetta shrieks and Hubert lurches forward to catch Ferdinand, managing to do so just before Ferdinand's head hits the concrete.</p><p>"Oh, I knew he wasn't ready to be released yet! Hubert, what do we do?"</p><p>Hubert sighs. "I don't know, take him back to the hospital?"</p><p>"You can't! You saw how freaked out he was. Going back to the hospital would only make things worse!"</p><p>"No hospital," Ferdinand murmurs from the ground before his eyes flutter closed again.</p><p>"What should we do instead?" Hubert asks.</p><p>"I don't know, maybe he just needs to be somewhere comfortable!"</p><p>"Are you offering up your couch, then?" </p><p>"What? No! I don't want— he might murder me, or— or something!"</p><p>"But you're suggesting I take him in? Because if he's not going back to the hospital, he's not going to your apartment, and we're not leaving him here, I don't see another option."</p><p>"Can't you, Hubert? You don't have to worry about him murdering <em> you </em>. I'm sure you could take him if he tried. But he's not going to try, anyway! He's obviously freaked out and just needs somewhere to relax."</p><p>Hubert scowls down at Ferdinand. Then he sighs, scoops Ferdinand up, and manages to stand, wobbling only a little under Ferdinand's weight.</p><p>"If I get arrested for kidnapping," he says, walking away from the hospital with Bernadetta on his heels, "You're posting my bail."</p><p>"That's fine," Bernadetta chirps, "You pay my salary, so you'll technically be paying either way."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>HELLO!!!! a few notes:<br/>1. title from say so by doja cat!<br/>2. arc lamps were an early type of electric streetlight, commonly in use in america by the 1890s. we're eschewing fodlan time for... uh, something easier to think about in terms of time travel, because it's a romcom and we don't care. so ferdinand is from 1887, and otherwise it is 2020!<br/>3. regarding the name john doe-- it looks like it was only used in specific legal contexts before about 1941, even though it's been around since the middle ages. i don't think ferdinand would have heard it.<br/>4. elastic fasteners have been around since the 1820s, however modern boxer-briefs were not invented until the 1940s/50s, when lycra was invented.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ferdinand wakes up in an unfamiliar place again. He’s stretched out on a sofa, the soft leather of the arm pressed into his face in a way that’s sure to leave an unsightly crease. He can feel the warmth of a blanket over him— it’s soft, but light in a way that he doesn’t immediately recognize. Running the fabric between his fingers, he can’t tell what it is.</p><p>The room is loud. There’s a low constant whir in the background that reminds him vaguely of factories, a consistent higher buzzing he can’t place, and under that the same beeps and whooshings of the street outside. It’s alien, and discomfiting enough that he opens his eyes and sits up, frowning.</p><p>In an adjoining room, visible from Ferdinand's couch, Hubert leans over a tall desk, papers and strewn across its surface. Ferdinand watches him for a minute, eyes tracing across his profile. His dark hair falls down over one eye, slightly wavy locks obscuring most of his expression. His face is thin and gaunt, but not unattractive, and Ferdinand catches himself admiring the angular planes of his cheekbones. Hubert’s brow is furrowed, and Ferdinand wonders why. </p><p>Instead of asking, however, he leans back and takes stock of his situation.</p><ol>
<li>Clothes: comfortable, stretchy, and in place. </li>
<li>Chest: sore. His bandages are pulling. </li>
<li>Arm: sore. </li>
<li>Back: also sore. </li>
<li>Legs: sore. He’s sore all over. </li>
<li>Stomach: empty. </li>
<li>Hair: in desperate need of a wash. First priority. </li>
<li>Temporal location: clearly not where he was yesterday. </li>
</ol><p>He finds that he’s not particularly distressed by the time travel. There’s really no other explanation— it was 1887 when he fell into the river and 2020 when he climbed out of it, given the clear technological advancement, the decay of the Enbarr palace, and the reactions of the people around him. He’s accepted that. He finds he’s rather calm about it, almost excited to see what changes time has wrought on his city. And it’s not that he doesn’t want to go home— he does, preferably post-haste— but temporal displacement is better than being dead, and it stands to reason that if he can get here, he can get back. He just has to figure out how.</p><p>But first, a bath. </p><p>“Excuse me,” he calls— or tries to. It gets stuck in his throat, and he coughs, then tries again. “Excuse me, my good sir.”</p><p>Hubert raises an eyebrow at the moniker, but doesn't look away from his work. "You're awake," he observes.</p><p>“Ah, yes,” Ferdinand says, smoothing the blanket across his lap. “I seem to be recovered. Is this your home?”</p><p>Hubert glances around the open apartment, fashionably furnished but devoid of life. "I hesitate to call it a <em> home </em>, but yes, it is."</p><p>“It’s… nice,” Ferdinand says, awkwardly. </p><p>Hubert snorts. "You think so?" He looks away from his work, at this, and turns toward Ferdinand, leaning back against the desk and crossing his arm. There's a small smile on his face as he asks, "Tell me, what do you like about it?"</p><p>“It’s very spacious,” Ferdinand says graciously, then catches sight of Hubert’s face. “You’re mocking me.”</p><p>"I am, yes," Hubert says dryly.</p><p>“I’ll overlook it, as I know I am an unwanted guest here,” Ferdinand sniffs magnanimously. </p><p>"Give me your address and you won't have to be," Hubert says.</p><p>Ferdinand promptly rattles it off. </p><p>Hubert's smile disappears, replaced by a frown. "That's the same one from before," he points out. "The museum."</p><p>“That’s where I <em> live </em>!” </p><p>"You can't live in a <em> museum </em>!"</p><p>“It’s not a museum! It’s my <em> house </em>! My family has lived there for years!”</p><p>Hubert makes a frustrated noise. "How about this: I'll take you there tomorrow — since they're surely <em> closed </em> for the night — and then we'll see who's right."</p><p>“Fine!” Ferdinand snaps, and crosses his arms emphatically. Unfortunately, this jostles his bandage, and he winces, gasping a little. </p><p>Hubert sighs, then disappears down a side hallway without a word. Before long, he returns carrying a small bottle and tosses it at Ferdinand.</p><p>“What is this?” Ferdinand asks, peering at the label.</p><p>"Painkillers. I imagine whatever they gave you at the hospital has worn off by now." </p><p>“Is this morphine?” Ferdinand asks. </p><p>To his credit, Hubert's only reaction is a single raised eyebrow. "Ibuprofen, actually."</p><p>“Never heard of it,” Ferdinand says, regarding the bottle with suspicion. </p><p>Hubert rolls his eyes. "It won't kill you, it'll simply take the edge off your pain. There's water on the table to your left."</p><p>Ferdinand spins the cap, and— spins the cap. And spins the cap again. “What in blazes,” he mutters. “Is this a torture device? Is this a joke?” The cap keeps spinning, and he tugs on it to no effect. </p><p>Hubert watches Ferdinand for a time, actually shocked silent. Finally, he shakes his head and says, "Push down and twist."</p><p>“What,” Ferdinand says, then “oh,” and the cap is off. “Three of these?” he asks, as if the whole debacle didn’t just happen. </p><p>"That should be enough, yes," Hubert says.</p><p>“Thank you,” Ferdinand sniffs, and takes them. He sets the glass back down on the table, cushioning the bottom with his pinky. “Is the lady Bernadetta here?” </p><p>Hubert makes a face. "Of course not."</p><p>“Ah?” Ferdinand asks, frowning. “I suppose that’s very proper, isn’t it.”</p><p>"I suppose so," Hubert repeats slowly, with a frown.</p><p>“I mean, if you aren’t married yet, it would be untoward,” Ferdinand hazards, feeling his metaphorical footing in this conversation slip. </p><p>"If we what?" Hubert asks, voice turning suddenly cold.</p><p>“Uh,” Ferdinand says, blinking. “Aren’t… married? Unless you are? I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have presumed.”</p><p>Hubert's eye twitches. "You think we're <em> engaged </em>?"</p><p>Ferdinand freezes, staring at Hubert with wide eyes. “Er, no?”</p><p>"Good," Hubert says, emphatically, "Because that is absurd and not something I even want to <em> think </em>about."</p><p>“I should think the lady Bernadetta a most suitable companion,” Ferdinand says, frowning. He feels offended on her behalf, despite having only known her for an hour or so. “I’m sure she has no shortage of graces and she has already shown herself to be very kind.”</p><p>"Then by all means, <em> you're </em>welcome to marry her," Hubert snaps. He holds out his phone, waves it at Ferdinand, "I'll give her a call now, if you're so eager to ask for her hand."</p><p>“I don’t want to marry her!” Ferdinand snaps, recoiling from the phone like it’s going to bite him. “I merely wondered why you seem so opposed!”</p><p>"I would be equally opposed to the idea of marrying <em> any </em>woman," Hubert says, "As I've only ever found myself interested in men."</p><p>Ferdinand blinks. “Oh,” he says, his mind completely blank.</p><p>"If you have a problem with that, Bernadetta's couch is open instead," Hubert sighs, the fight draining out of him all at once.</p><p>“No!” Ferdinand says, perhaps too quickly. “No, no, I don’t, I just— is that… common? In this day and age?” <em> Can you really just— say that? </em> is what he wants to ask. <em> Are you not afraid? </em></p><p>Hubert's withering look softens into something merely annoyed. "It's not <em> un</em>common."</p><p>“I see! How lovely,” he says, and means it. He feels slightly off balance. Of course things would change that much, wouldn’t they. </p><p>Hubert blinks, surprised at the response, and huffs a short laugh. “Right, then. Are you hungry?”</p><p>“Yes!” Ferdinand chirps. He’s not sure if Hubert is laughing at him or not but he’s too hungry to care. </p><p>“I imagined you might be,” Hubert says. “Thoughts on takeout?”</p><p>Ferdinand hesitates.</p><p>“Food delivery?” Hubert clarifies, a hint of exasperation making it into his voice. “We can get Dagdan, pizza, nearly any variety of fast food…”</p><p>“Ah!” Ferdinand says. “I’ve never had food from Dagda before.”</p><p>“Dagdan it is,” Hubert says, fishing out his phone and tapping away at it.</p><p>“What is that?” Ferdinand asks, watching Hubert. </p><p>Hubert glances up from his phone, his fingers slowing on the keys. “I genuinely cannot decide whether you’re messing with me or just stupid,” he says. “I don’t like being made a fool of.”</p><p>“I promise, I am not making a fool of you,” Ferdinand says, sighing and raking a hand through his hair. It crunches, dried mud flaking off onto his fingers, and he wrinkles his nose. “I am not stupid either, though I suppose I can see why you think so. I haven’t made much of a first impression.”</p><p>“I can assure you, you’ve made <em> quite </em> the first impression,” Hubert says. approaching the couch Ferdinand sits on. He holds the phone out, display side up. “It’s a phone. I’m using it to order the food, so pick out what you want.”</p><p>“What in blazes,” Ferdinand mutters, taking the phone. He peers at the screen, then accidentally taps one of the images on it and nearly drops the phone in his surprise.</p><p>Hubert sighs, not unkindly, and sits on the couch beside Ferdinand, taking the phone from him. “Just let me do it,” he says, then taps the screen a few times, changing it to a screen with a list of categories - appetizers, entrees, desserts. “What kind of food do you like?”</p><p>“I enjoy sweets,” Ferdinand admits, “but I’m happy to try anything new.”</p><p>Hubert hums and flips through several screens, adding a few different items to the cart. Entranced by the flashing colors, Ferdinand leans closer, peering over Hubert’s shoulder to watch. </p><p>Hubert glances at him, then shows him the pictures of the items in the cart. “How’s that?”</p><p>Ferdinand blinks, then shrugs. “I believe that will be perfectly adequate,” he says. “My thanks.” </p><p>Hubert hums, the sound dismissive, and stands. “You should shower while we wait for the food. In your current state, you’ll dirty up my couch.”</p><p>“Oh!” Ferdinand says. “My apologies. Of course. Um… where is your bath?”</p><p>"Down the hall, on the left," Hubert says. "I'll grab you a towel."</p><p>“Thank you,” Ferdinand says, standing up and wincing. He picks his way down the hall, hesitating before he peers into the door on the left. </p><p>There’s no bathtub in it. </p><p>He frowns. </p><p>"Is something wrong with my bathroom?" Hubert asks, coming up from behind Ferdinand with a large towel in hand.</p><p>“Well, you don’t seem to have a bath,” Ferdinand says, raising an eyebrow. </p><p>"No," Hubert agrees, "I've never been much of a bath person. If my shower's not good enough for you, there's a pool on the eleventh floor you can go dirty instead."</p><p>Ferdinand sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. “I have a horrible headache,” he announced. </p><p>"Good thing you took painkillers," Hubert says, pressing his palm flat against Ferdinand's shoulder blades and giving him a gentle push into the bathroom. Inside, he steps around Ferdinand, draws the shower curtain shut, and gets the water running. "I take it you can figure things out from here?"</p><p>Ferdinand turns back to him with pleading, horrified eyes. “No, actually.”</p><p>"Do you need me to actually bathe you?" Hubert asks, tone so dry it belongs in a desert.</p><p>“No!” Ferdinand snaps. “Just— just tell me how it works, for Sothis’ sake!”</p><p>Hubert snorts, then pulls the curtain back to point at the temperature dial. "Right makes it colder, left makes it warmer. Body wash and shampoo are on the shelf. When you're done, press the dial in to turn it off."</p><p>“Thank you,” Ferdinand sighs, and pulls his shirt off over his head. It hurts a little, but the Ibuprofen definitely kicked in, taking the edge off. The stretchiness of the shirt helps, as he still cannot lift his arm over his head.</p><p>"Wait until I'm out of the room before you start taking off your clothes again, won't you?" Hubert asks with a sigh.</p><p>“Then leave faster,” Ferdinand sniffs, stepping out of his pants. Still stretchy, still nice. </p><p>"Be careful not to get your bandages wet.”</p><p>“Yes, yes, all right,” Ferdinand sighs.</p><p>With one last irritated (flustered?) glance at Ferdinand, Hubert leaves and slams the door behind him. Ferdinand sighs, visibly relaxing once Hubert is gone. He leans his head against the shower door and gives himself a moment to collect his bearings. Then, he squares his shoulders and sets about addressing the shower. </p><p>Half an hour later, he’s pink and rosy and damp, a little less sore and a <em> lot </em> cleaner, padding on bare feet back into Hubert’s kitchen. </p><p>“Thank you,” he says, cheerily. “I feel much better. My hair hasn’t been that dirty since my horse bucked me into a pond when I was twelve!”</p><p>“...Right. You’re welcome, I suppose,” Hubert says, eyeing Ferdinand warily. He passes him a takeout container.</p><p>Ferdinand takes it, opens it, and closes his eyes to better appreciate the smell. “This smells divine,” he says. </p><p>“If you say so," Hubert says.</p><p>“Do you not like it?” Ferdinand asks, frowning. </p><p>"I don't hate it, but it's still cheap takeout," Hubert says. "Hardly gourmet."</p><p>“That’s rather disparaging to the chef, don’t you think?” Ferdinand says, raising an eyebrow. </p><p>"My, are you always so considerate?" Hubert asks, sarcasm heavy in his voice.</p><p>“I try to be,” Ferdinand replies, oblivious. </p><p>Hubert scoffs and shakes his head. </p><p>“Do you have utensils in this day and age, or do we eat with our hands?” Ferdinand asks, peering into the box. It’s curry. He really doesn’t want to eat it with his hands. </p><p>Hubert reaches into the brown paper bag the food came in and tosses Ferdinand a utensil set wrapped in plastic. "As entertaining as it would have been to watch you try, I'd hate to see you make a mess again after you just showered."</p><p>“Ah, how considerate,” Ferdinand says, catching it easily.</p><p>"I try to be," Hubert mimics with a wry smile.</p><p>Ferdinand blinks at Hubert, eyes lingering on his smile for just a second before he laughs, shaking his head. “You are a very confusing individual.”</p><p>Hubert scoffs. "Oh? If you head back to the bathroom, I believe you'll find something novel to you: it's called a <em> mirror </em>."</p><p>“Ha ha, very funny. I know what a mirror is.”</p><p>Hubert chuckles. "You do get my point, though?"</p><p>“I do,” Ferdinand says, pausing in the act of shoveling spiced vegetables into his mouth. He sets his fork down. “I’m sorry to have caused you so much turmoil today.”</p><p>"No, not at all. Losing an entire afternoon and evening of valuable work time to help a stranger who doesn't know a thing about the modern era is hardly a bother," Hubert says.</p><p>“Well,” Ferdinand starts, then frowns. “You’re fooling with me.” </p><p>"Naturally."</p><p>Ferdinand laughs again. “I still think it’s very kind of you.” </p><p>"Kindness is subjective. Think whatever you want," Hubert says, looking pointedly away. </p><p>“I shall do exactly that,” Ferdinand says, tucking into the rest of his food. He briefly wonders what the utensils are made of, then brushes it off as something he can probably wait to ask about. </p><p>They finish their dinners in surprisingly companionable silence. When finished, Hubert pushes back from the table. "If you'll excuse me, I have work to catch up on from my lost afternoon. There are extra blankets in the closet there, and while I think this <em> should </em> go without saying, don't take any more of that pain medication for several hours. If you need anything further from me, don't hesitate to knock; I'm usually up until odd hours of the night."</p><p>“Ah, of course. Thank you,” Ferdinand says, watching him go. Without his coat on he’s far less imposing. There’s something soft about the way the dim kitchen light hits his cheek, and it makes him look more human than he has all day. “Good night.”</p><p>Hubert doesn't say it back, but he does pause in the doorway and look back at Ferdinand, something unreadable in his expression. Then it's gone and <em> he's </em> gone, slipping out of sight, the soft <em> click </em> of a door shutting deeper in the apartment signaling his exit. </p><p>Ferdinand sighs, rubbing idly at his aching shoulder. What an odd man. Something about him infuriates Ferdinand, but attracts him at the same time. He's kind but cold, condescending but patient. He’s a basketful of contradictions, and he is making Ferdinand’s life harder. Sighing and favoring his shoulder, he gets up and heads for the cupboard Hubert indicated earlier, helping himself to enough blankets to build a small nest on the sofa. He already misses his four-poster bed, but it’s not as if he hasn’t had to rough it before. He lays down and closes his eyes. </p><p>Twenty minutes later, he’s still awake. Every time he closes his eyes he sees the impossibly bright lights of the hospital ward. His shoulder hurts, and unless he tucks his face fully into the arm of the sofa, the changing lights from the street outside flash in his eyes. Grumbling to himself, he gives up on sleep.</p><p>The windows draw his attention. Outside, the city stands out against the night, brighter and more colorful than he remembers. His Enbarr is bright and sparkling, but not like this— images move across signs, sirens wail, lights flash in different colors, and the crawl of vehicles never stops on the road below. It’s almost too much to take in, but it’s beautiful in a way. Mesmerizing. He never doubted that Enbarr would stand for a long, long time, the city he loves immortalized in its own living amber, but it’s one thing to daydream idly of the splendor of the future to come, and another to see it. It’s like a jewel. He wraps his arms around himself and watches. </p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>It's a while later that Hubert emerges from his room, expecting to find Ferdinand asleep on the couch. He stills, surprised to find the man standing before the wide windows. The lights from the street outside cast a cool glow across his hair, haloing him against the dark night. Retreating into old habits, Hubert sinks back into shadows and just watches Ferdinand for a while. It's calming to watch him, strange as this man is, strange as the circumstances of their meeting were.</p><p>When Ferdinand shivers, his arms wrapped around himself, Hubert finally reveals himself. "If you wanted warmer clothes, you could've said so."</p><p>Ferdinand jumps, gasping, pressing his uninjured hand to his heart. “Mr. Von Vestra! You scared me!” he says, eyes wide in the darkness. “I thought you asleep!” </p><p>“I told you; I often find myself up at odd hours of the night,” Hubert says. He checks his watch. “Though I hardly think 11 pm qualifies.”</p><p>“Ah,” Ferdinand says, relaxing slightly. “I see.” He blinks at Hubert, watching the way the headlamps of passing vehicles cast shadows across his face. “I couldn’t sleep,” he says after a minute. </p><p>“Was it the lights, or the pain? The former, I might be able to remedy, but the latter, I'm not sure I can help with.”</p><p>Ferdinand shakes his head. “The lights, mostly. And the noises.” He looks back out the window. “I am used to city life, but… not like this.” </p><p>"It does take some getting used to," Hubert says. He approaches Ferdinand, then brushes past him, reaching for the heavy curtains and sliding them shut. They block the majority of the light streaming in. "I may have earplugs somewhere, if you're having difficulty with the noise."</p><p>“Thank you,” Ferdinand says, fervently. He doesn’t ask how he could possibly sleep with earplugs clamped over his ears. </p><p>Hubert's lips twitch. It's almost a smile. "You do know what earplugs are, of course," he guesses.</p><p>"Of course I do," Ferdinand sniffs. "Though I fail to see how they would be comfortable to sleep in, I must admit."</p><p>Hubert raises an eyebrow.</p><p>"They are bulky," Ferdinand says.</p><p>Hubert sighs. "If you don't know what they are, just say that you don't know. I'd rather explain than play this ridiculous game with you."</p><p>"I know what they are!" Ferdinand hisses. "I am not playing games! I just do not want to sleep with some infernal contraption shoved in my ears!"</p><p>"Infernal—," Hubert starts, then abruptly cuts himself off. "Very well, then. Enjoy sleeping with the city noises at your back. Goodnight, Ferdinand."</p><p>"I <em> will! </em>" Ferdinand snaps.</p><p>"<em>Fine </em>," Hubert snaps back, turning and storming back to his room, letting the door slam behind him.</p><p>With a huff, Ferdinand collapses back into his nest on the couch, wincing as he jostles his shoulder. Really, that man. He makes himself as comfortable as possible and closes his eyes. Just then, a loud screech comes from Hubert's bedroom door, followed by a cacophonous banging of drums and the riff of an electric guitar. The noise only increases as Hubert pointedly turns the volume of the stereo up. </p><p>Ferdinand claps a pillow over his ears and rolls over. He will not give this man the satisfaction of getting to him, but if he lays awake and plots several elaborate revenge fantasies, no one needs to know. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>notes:<br/>1. so... the time travel in kate and leopold is complete bullshit, but we're just rolling with it. wormholes(?) let's goooooooo<br/>2. those push down and twist caps were invented in 1967!<br/>3. fascinatingly enough, the word takeout was coined in the 1940s and fast food as a term was coined in the 1950s.<br/>4. so, earplugs. the first use of earplugs dates back as far as ancient greece-- the crew in the odyssey plugged their ears up with beeswax. but early earplugs were generally made out of metal for whatever reason. canal covers (on a headband) were patented in the 1880s and earplugs in 1864, but earplugs as we know now were not really in use until post-ww2 era. and for some reason, the prevailing idea in western cultures was that you could increase your "noise tolerance" by exposure to loud noises, so you didn't need to wear earplugs anyway! so i guess even though they knew you could stick beeswax in your ears no one did???? which seems highly illogical to me honestly. like they literally just went through battles with heavy artillery and shit with no hearing protection. even though they were invented before ferdinand's time i have no idea if he would have actually known what they were. i could be super wrong though-- this is what i gathered from a several hour hyperfixation on the history of hearing protection. if someone has more information feel free to correct me lol </p><p>wait i just. i cannot get over "it's not hearing loss i'm just noise tolerant" (screams)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Ferdinand wakes in the morning to sunlight and green eyes very close to his own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hubie,” a bright voice calls. “You didn’t tell me you had a guest!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me,” Ferdinand gasps, sitting up hastily and getting a faceful of brown curls for his trouble. “My dear lady, please! This is improper!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman laughs and takes an exaggerated step back. “Improper? Okay, mister fancy-pants. Man, Hubie has weird taste. You hear that, Hubert?” she calls. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Leave him alone, Dorothea," Hubert calls, appearing in the hallway with wet hair and a half-unbuttoned shirt. There are dark bags under his eyes and he looks slightly paler than usual.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Such chivalry. You must really like this one,” Dorothea says sarcastically, propping a hand on her hip. She’s wearing a jacket and pants, the shirt underneath unbuttoned far enough to be entirely scandalous. Ferdinand doesn’t know where to look. There are chests everywhere. He settles for the ceiling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Very funny," Hubert says, voice entirely flat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, come on. You never let me meet your flings, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity. What’s your name?” Dorothea asks, directing this last part to Ferdinand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ferdinand stands carefully and bows to Dorothea, his shoulder twinging as he does. He tries not to wince. “Ferdinand von Aegir, at your service,” he says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ooh, I like the sound of </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Dorothea grins. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is a fling?” Ferdinand asks, frowning. He rolls his shoulder experimentally. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't answer that," Hubert warns Dorothea. "He is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>a fling, he's a nuisance."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dorothea smirks, taking a step closer to Ferdinand. “A one-night stand,” she says. “A tryst, a rendezvous, a booty call, a—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, yes, I understand!” Ferdinand snaps, face beet red. He can’t stop himself from glancing over at Hubert, all dripping hair and open shirt. He gulps. “I am merely passing through. </span>
  <em>
    <span>So</span>
  </em>
  <span> sorry to be a nuisance.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm not sure that you are," Hubert says mildly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am not </span>
  <em>
    <span>trying </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be a nuisance,” Ferdinand snaps. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>You</span>
  </em>
  <span> try to undress yourself with a bullet wound and see how much help you need!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not so loud,” Hubert hisses. “I have a terrible headache.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dorothea’s eyebrows shoot up. “Excuse me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I found him climbing out of the river, covered in blood. I called him an ambulance and somehow ended up babysitting because of it," Hubert explains with a sigh, before turning his attention to Ferdinand. "You never did explain how that happened, by the way."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ferdinand sighs and runs a hand through his hair, embarrassed. Dorothea watches the way his shirt stretches tight across his chest and her eyebrows go even higher. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I lost a duel,” he says. “Well, sort of. I am still alive, so technically I haven’t yet lost.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"A duel," Hubert repeats. "Naturally."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Ferdinand says, carefully. “And then I fell off the bridge.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have so many questions I don’t even know where to start,” Dorothea says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I've found it best not to ask," Hubert mutters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I can track drama like a drug-sniffing dog,” Dorothea says, and snaps her fingers. “Ferdie, the story, now please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ferdinand blinks. “Ah— well. Where shall I start?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Start with why you talk like that,” Dorothea says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have traveled here from 1887,” Ferdinand says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dorothea doesn’t respond. She looks at Hubert. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I did warn you," Hubert says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dorothea checks her phone. “We’re going to be late to work,” she says. “Shoulda just driven myself this time.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert curses under his breath. "I'm nearly ready; give me a moment." He turns back toward the bathroom, then hesitates, looking at Ferdinand. His gaze tracks down to Ferdinand's t-shirt and sweatpants. "I don't trust you enough to leave you here all day. You're coming with me, but you’re going to have to borrow some clothes."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ferdinand looks down at himself. The t-shirt is stretched rather tightly across his chest, but it isn’t uncomfortable. He has no idea what the standards are in this era. “Is this not appropriate attire?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not where we’re going, honey,” Dorothea says. “Hubie, I do not think anything you own is going to fit him. You’re built like a pixie stick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert shoots her a withering glare. "I'll find something." He beckons Ferdinand with one finger. "Come with me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ferdinand follows immediately, trying not to think about what that says about him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert gestures Ferdinand into his room. If the rest of the apartment is sparse, the bedroom is even worse. There's a bed, already firmly made, the plain comforter pulled tight across the mattress. There's a sleek black dresser, several neatly-folded articles of clothing sitting atop it. There's an empty nightstand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only item of interest is another desk, piled high with thick books and stacks of paper. A single photograph sits on the desk - it depicts a group of people standing in front of an office building. Hubert, who has something like a </span>
  <em>
    <span>smile</span>
  </em>
  <span> on his face, stands at the center beside a woman with silver-white hair. Dorothea and Bernadetta are also there, as well as several others.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ferdinand hovers near the door, glancing around Hubert’s room with trepidation. He half expects a hidden trap to spring as soon as he steps across the threshold. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert shoots him a knowing smirk and opens the door to the closet. It's a walk-in, because of course it is. "I won't bite," Hubert calls. "Not unless you give me reason. Are you going to come in, or not?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think I quite trust what you consider </span>
  <em>
    <span>reason</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Ferdinand mutters, but he edges his way into the room, towards the desk. He picks up the picture. He hardly recognizes Hubert like this. “Who is this?” he asks, lightly tapping the silver-haired woman’s image.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert snatches the photograph out of Ferdinand's hand and sets it back on the desk. He then grabs Ferdinand by the arm and drags him into the closet with him. "My boss. You'll most likely meet her today, which is why you need to wear something better than </span>
  <em>
    <span>sweatpants.</span>
  </em>
  <span>"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Ferdinand says. “What happened to my clothes? They weren’t my best, but I was quite fond of that jacket. Shouldn’t that suffice?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, for several reasons," Hubert says. He pulls a shirt off the rack and holds it up to Ferdinand, considering. "First, I'm sure they had to cut the jacket off you to dress your wounds. Second, even if they hadn't, it is utterly ridiculous. I don't need a </span>
  <em>
    <span>circus performer</span>
  </em>
  <span> following me to my office.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was velvet,” Ferdinand says, faintly. Hubert’s shoulders are broader than he was expecting, but most of the clothes he’s held up to him so far are far too narrow in the chest, and all are rather drab colors. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That only serves to make it more garish," Hubert says. He sighs and pulls a dark button-up off its hanger, handing it to Ferdinand, then a pair of dress pants. "Try these. They're too large for me, and they're as good as we're going to get."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Garish? I’ll have you know that jacket was the newest style, straight from my designer!” Ferdinand frowns. He takes the shirt and lays it carefully on the bed, then starts trying to pull his t-shirt off one-handedly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The newest style in 1887?" Hubert asks, voice dripping with sarcasm. Out of spite, he adds, "I'm not helping you with that."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t need your help,” Ferdinand snaps, wedging his elbow into the stretch cotton. “Of course in 1887! I haven’t exactly had time to catch up on the fashions of 2020!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Then don't argue with me when I say it's garish for 2020!" Hubert says. "Must you be so </span>
  <em>
    <span>stubborn</span>
  </em>
  <span>?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t say it was garish </span>
  <em>
    <span>for 2020</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Ferdinand replies, his voice rising enough that the shirt over his face barely muffles it. “You said it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>garish</span>
  </em>
  <span>, as in, in </span>
  <em>
    <span>general</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Frankly, I stand by the fact that it </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> garish in general," Hubert says, "But especially so for 2020."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, as if I would trust </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> sense of fashion in any era,” Ferdinand hisses, still trying to pull the t-shirt over his head. “You lack any sense of color!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Color washes out my skin tone!" Hubert snaps. He marches over to Ferdinand and tugs at the shirt, trying to help. "Quit squirming!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I said I do </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> need your help!” Ferdinand snaps back, elbowing wildly in Hubert’s direction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nearly hits Hubert in the face. Hubert manages to dodge, then grabs Ferdinand by the shirt with one hand and slips the other beneath the fabric, trying to help pull it over Ferdinand's head. "You quite clearly do!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah!” Ferdinand shrieks, his voice achieving an octave he will fervently deny to anyone who asks. “Unhand me!” He jerks away from Hubert’s frigid fingers, and trips over the bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Ferdinand falls, he brings Hubert tumbling down with him. They collapse in a tangle of limbs on the bed, Hubert landing on top of Ferdinand and letting out a steady stream of curses the whole time. In trying to disentangle himself, he accidentally presses a hand right to Ferdinand's shoulder wound. Ferdinand gasps in pain, his other arm finding Hubert’s shoulder and squeezing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you two okay in here? I hear screaming—” Dorothea says, poking her head in the door. “Oh! Hubie, if you wanted to get your dick wet before work couldn’t you have done it earlier? Edie gets so, you know, </span>
  <em>
    <span>disappointed</span>
  </em>
  <span> when you’re late.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Enough</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Dorothea!" Hubert snarls, finally managing to right himself. He straightens his shirt, trying to regain what little dignity he has left. "</span>
  <em>
    <span>You</span>
  </em>
  <span> can help Ferdinand dress, because I have had enough of this for one morning. I'll wait in the living room."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, he storms out, not giving Ferdinand a backward glance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeesh, what crawled up his ass and died?” Dorothea mutters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ferdinand groans, curling protectively around his shoulder. He’s still seeing stars. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, are you okay?” Dorothea asks, peering over him. “Oh, shit, you really are hurt. Is that really a gunshot wound? Oh, my god. I thought you were joking about the duel. Were you in a </span>
  <em>
    <span>shootout</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No—,” Ferdinand says, “My dear Lady Dorothea, I am fine. Please, leave me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Absolutely not. You need to get dressed,” Dorothea says, and tugs the t-shirt over his head and off. “Uh. Should this be bleeding?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is a gunshot wound,” Ferdinand grumbles. “That is generally what they do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dorothea frowns. “Well, okay. Don’t drop dead on us. I really could go another ten years or so before I have to clean up a body again,” she says, and leaves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ferdinand sighs and shrugs the darker button-up over his shoulders, brushing that off as yet another thing he will not be asking about. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Ferdinand and Dorothea emerge from the bedroom a few minutes later, Hubert is already waiting by the door, now dressed in a full suit. "We're stopping for coffee," Hubert tells them, not offering any choice in the matter. "I already texted Bernadetta to tell her we're running late."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ferdinand pulls his hair over his shoulder, twisting the ends back and forth in a nervous habit he’s had since childhood. It’s bright against the dark shirt, which, even though it’s a size too large for Hubert, still clings to his chest and shoulders. The pants cling too. He wonders if everything is just tight these days— probably all that elastic. “Where are we going?” he asks, cautiously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ah," Hubert says, taking in Ferdinand's appearance, then looking pointedly away. "My office. We're in the middle of a crucial acquisition and have meetings with the target company's board this morning."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see,” says Ferdinand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We work at the Black Eagle corporation,” Dorothea adds. “It’s a marketing firm. I’m in PR, Hubie’s legal.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Legal? Mr. Von Vestra, you are a barrister?” Ferdinand asks, raising his eyebrows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Mister Von Vestra</span>
  </em>
  <span>, huh?” Dorothea snorts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I'm Black Eagle's Chief Legal Officer," Hubert answers, completely ignoring Dorothea. "You </span>
  <em>
    <span>can</span>
  </em>
  <span> call me Hubert, you know."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh! Then I shall do that, my dear Hubert. What an impressive title! You must be skilled indeed,” Ferdinand says with a bright smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I still can't decide whether you're mocking me, but frankly, I’m too exhausted to care," Hubert says. He ushers Dorothea and Ferdinand out the door. "Come on, let's go."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I promise, I am not mocking you!” Ferdinand insists, looking at Hubert over his shoulder. “You know, you probably would have slept better were it not for that infernal music you kept on all night.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sothis,” Dorothea mutters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If you have something to say, Dorothea, do keep it to yourself," Hubert says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I’ll keep it to myself,” Dorothea says. “Until I see Petra at the office.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert shoots her a look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They step into the elevator, and Ferdinand blinks. “Is this an electric elevator?” he asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert shoots him a faintly amused look and presses the button for the basement. "It's electric, yes." To Dorothea, he says, "If you tell Petra about the incident in the bedroom, not only will I get you fired, I'll make sure no one in Enbarr will ever hire you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think you can do that, Hubie,” Dorothea says mildly, checking her nails. “I’m, like, 75% sure Edie likes me, soooo.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is fascinating!” Ferdinand gasps. “I saw one of the prototypes years ago when I was with my father in the Faerghus-Sreng empire. They were nowhere near as sleek and improved as this, however, though the artistry in this updated version is sorely lacking. Tell me, Hubert, have the engineers of the future completely divested from the art of design?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"There is no more Faerghus-Sreng Empire," Hubert says flatly. "And engineers of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>present</span>
  </em>
  <span> are justly focused on efficiency and innovation over artistry."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The elevator doors open to an underground parking structure, sleek, expensive-looking cars parked one right next to the other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No more? Then what is there?” Ferdinand frowns. “And I take offense to that. Efficiency and innovation can coexist with artistry— one could even say that their relationship is mutualistic. Each improves the other!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm an attorney, not an engineer, </span>
  <em>
    <span>your grace</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I have no interest in artistry — or history, for that matter," Hubert says. "I prefer to focus on the path ahead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ferdinand sniffs. “Your lack of taste astounds me,” he says, then looks around him, eyes widening as he takes in the different cars. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shotgun!” calls Dorothea, running to a shiny black vehicle and throwing open the front door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert rolls his eyes and follows her to the vehicle, glancing over his shoulder at Ferdinand and snapping his fingers. “We really don’t have time for you to gawk at the cars right now, Ferdinand. You’ll have plenty of time to do so on the road."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ferdinand nods and slides into the backseat, struggling slightly with the door handle. He watches Dorothea flip the visor down to check her lipstick with wide eyes, which get wider still when Hubert puts the car in reverse and pulls smoothly out of his stall. Ferdinand lurches forward and wraps his hands around the back of Hubert’s seat, white-knuckled and swaying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Flames, Ferdinand, </span>
  <em>
    <span>put your seatbelt on!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Hubert snaps. He barely gives Ferdinand any time to do so, though, already pulling out of the lot and into the busy street.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seat belt?” Ferdinand asks, his grip on Hubert’s seat growing tighter. He can feel the heat of Hubert’s back against his fingers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dorothea turns to him and pulls at the belt buckled across her waist. “It’s behind you,” she says. “Hubert, maybe he is from 1887. I refuse to believe anyone is </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> stupid.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” says Ferdinand, trying to glare at her. With his wide eyes it comes out more of a pout. “I am perfectly intelligent, thank you. It is not my fault I missed over a century of technological development.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s clearly suffering from some severe form of amnesia,” Hubert tells Dorothea, completely ignoring Ferdinand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, so I lived through the last century and simply forgot it?” Ferdinand hisses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hubie’s saying you look old,” Dorothea says, dryly. Ferdinand’s hands fly to his face just as Hubert takes a turn, and he’s thrown back against the seat and the window on the other side of the car. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seatbelt, Ferdinand,” Hubert sighs. “You’re going to further injure yourself, and I don’t have time to take you back to the hospital.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ferdinand reaches over his shoulder, feeling blindly for the belt and tugging on it. It locks. He releases it only for it to lock again the next time he tugs. Cursing under his breath, he wraps it around his hand and clings in lieu of actually buckling himself in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert watches the whole ordeal through the rearview mirror. He lets out another sharp sigh. "Just wait until we're in the drive through. Dorothea or I can help."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t go volunteering me for this,” Dorothea says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fine. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I'll</span>
  </em>
  <span> help," Hubert says, pulling into a crowded coffee shop drive through. "The usual, Dorothea?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes indeedy,” Dorothea says. “Ferdie, can you see the menu from back there?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ferdinand stares at her wide-eyed. “The — the menu?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, that big box thing with words and pictures on it right in front of you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is this a café?” Ferdinand asks weakly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glancing back in the rearview mirror and seeing the bleak despair on Ferdinand's face, Hubert decides to take pity on him. "What do you normally drink?" he asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I prefer tea,” Ferdinand says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Perfect. What kind, how much, and do you want it hot or iced?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Almyran pine needles if they have it,” Ferdinand replies, sitting up straighter. “Or a fruit blend. Hot, if you please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"There, that wasn't so difficult," Hubert says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After placing the order but before pulling up to the window, Hubert quickly unbuckles himself and turns far enough around to help Ferdinand with his seatbelt. Ferdinand turns his face away, flushing with shame. He doesn’t like this future much. He feels so helpless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ferdinand," Hubert says to draw his attention, his voice missing it's characteristic edge. "Just press the metal piece into the buckle at your hip."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ferdinand nods and does so, jumping slightly when it clicks into place. He checks the tightness of the belt and is relieved when it moves with him. “Thank you,” he says, quietly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mm," Hubert says. His hand rests briefly, absently, on Ferdinand's knee.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hubie. Line's moving,” Dorothea sighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ah."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert drops promptly back into his seat and pulls the car forward, jaw tight and cheeks faintly flushed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know,” Dorothea drawls, glancing at Hubert out of the corner of her eye. “This is probably the most undignified I’ve ever seen you. Big bad scary CLO leaning out of his seat to buckle a grown man in.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert scowls, but his designer suit is ruffled from the acrobatics, there are dark bags under his eyes, and a flush sits high on his cheeks, so it doesn't quite have the usual effect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it undignified to be kind?” Ferdinand asks sharply from the backseat. “I was unaware that helping others was beneath </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyon</span>
  </em>
  <span>e’s station.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert's lips quirk up into a smirk, one he directs at Dorothea and her disbelieving expression. Before she can respond, the employee hands them the paper tray with their drinks, which Hubert passes to Dorothea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fruit tea for you, my good sir,” Dorothea says with a fake accent, passing the cup back to Ferdinand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, my thanks,” Ferdinand says, blinking at the paper vessel. He waits before drinking, peering at Hubert and Dorothea to see how they do it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert takes his black coffee from Dorothea and doesn't bother waiting for it to cool before taking a sip. "I do hope Edelgard isn't waiting on us," he murmurs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, she most definitely is,” Dorothea sighs. “You know what she’s like.” She takes a slurp from her drink— iced and colorful. Ferdinand has never seen its like. He takes a hesitant sip from his, and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh! This is </span>
  <em>
    <span>tea</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” he spits. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert glances disinterestedly at him through the rearview mirror. "Did they give you the wrong order?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It tastes like the leaves were scalded,” Ferdinand says, popping the top off of his cup. “Ah-ha! The bag is still in the water! What sort of establishment is this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The convenient kind," Hubert answers. "Take it out, if it bothers you so much."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ferdinand does, launching into an explanation about how convenience is the enemy of artistry, and the proper steeping time and temperature for this particular kind of tea. It then turns into a lecture on proper tea preparation and appreciation, and continues at a steady, insistent pitch as they pull out of the parking lot and head into the city. “Tea is meant to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>enjoyed</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Ferdinand is insisting. “It must be paired with the appropriate setting, appetizers, and, ideally, company for the full effect. You cannot simply have tea out of </span>
  <em>
    <span>convenience</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Then don't order the tea, next time," is Hubert's response to the rant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ferdinand sniffs. “I don’t like coffee.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No accounting for taste."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, blessedly, they pull into a sleek parking structure. Hubert has a special keycard that grants them access to a private floor of the structure, where the CLO has a reserved spot near the doors.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All told, Black Eagle's headquarters aren't far from Hubert's apartment, located at the heart of Enbarr. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ferdinand, to his credit, only struggles slightly with the seat belt, his shoulder aching as he climbs out of the car and pulls his hair over his shoulder. He thinks he’s probably in shock, looking around at all of the shining vehicles lining the walls of the structure. There are no questions he can possibly ask. He wouldn’t know where to start. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mon Hubie, Ferdie,” Dorothea chirps, skipping to the elevator doors. “Edie’s waaaiting!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert heaves a deep sigh and gestures for Ferdinand to follow. Inside the elevator, he again uses his keycard to gain access to the top floor of the building. Ferdinand gapes at the myriad of buttons and lights, jumping slightly into Hubert when music starts to play from somewhere unknown. Other than that, he makes it to the opening of the doors relatively well composed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s taking it one minute at a time. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>1. the first electric elevator was built in 1880! there was some sort of conference in the austro-hungarian empire where they were shown off around that time, so obviously farghus-sreng is a play on that.<br/>2. seatbelts were invented for cars in 1885, but only for new york taxis. they weren't common or mandated in cars until the 1930s.<br/>3. starbucks tea is just.............. bad</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Dorothea positively hops out of the elevator and down the hallway. “Good moooorning, Bernie!” she chirps, waving at a familiar face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Dorothea! Good morning!" Bernadetta says with an awkward wave. She was clearly on the way to the elevator, a thick stack of papers in her hand. "And Mr. Von V—oh! Ferdinand! You're…here? Why are you here? I mean, not that I’m not glad to see you, but—,"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning, Lady Bernadetta!” Ferdinand beams. “What a pleasure it is to see your lovely face!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I gotta run to a meeting,” Dorothea says, sending a sly look at Hubert. “See you all later.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert watches her leave through narrowed eyes, then turns to Bernadetta. "If you see Linhardt, send him to my office. I have a </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> important task for him," he says, smiling at some private joke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bernadetta nods, clutching her papers to her chest. "Yes, sir. See you later, Ferdinand!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, Bernadetta slips into the elevator and Hubert beckons Ferdinand to follow him. Ferdinand waves to Bernadetta with a smile and strides after Hubert. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How many people work here?” he asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, a few thousand or so," Hubert says. "Less, in this particular building?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They wind down a long hallway and past an empty meeting room with wide windows. The view from here is breathtaking, the open blue sky stretching on and the palace framed perfectly between the panes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, I meant in your domain, specifically. If you are the Chief Legal Officer it stands to reason you have a department. I apologize, I should have been more clear.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ah," Hubert says, giving Ferdinand a considering look. "I have only a handful of attorneys reporting to me, and they each manage their own teams. Linhardt, who you'll meet soon, is our Corporate General Counsel."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They pass an open door that leads into a wide office. A woman in a colorful romper sits at the desk, saying something to a man with bright blue hair. They both wave at Hubert as he passes but regard Ferdinand with open curiosity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"This floor," Hubert continues to explain, "Is only reserved only for the Chief Executives. The ones we just passed are Petra, who oversees relations with our international affiliates, and Caspar, our head of security."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ferdinand nods, distracted slightly by the view of the open sky out of every window they pass. It’s the exact same sky as it was when he knew it, both a century ago and the day before yesterday at once. “What a beautiful view,” he says. “It seems fitting that it would be reserved for those most highly regarded by the company.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert mutters something under his breath and does </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> look out the window. Ferdinand raises an eyebrow at him. “Ah, is the view not efficient enough for you?” he asks, smirking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't try to be funny, Ferdinand. It's wasted on your current audience," Hubert counters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, please,” Ferdinand snorts. “Do you truly not appreciate the </span>
  <em>
    <span>sky</span>
  </em>
  <span>? It’s gorgeous! I could drown in it,” he says, approaching the window with a sigh. “So blue.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert glances only briefly at the window. "You're like a golden retriever, distracted by anything that catches your fancy."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ferdinand laughs, running a hand through his hair sheepishly. “I have actually been told that before. However, I will have you know that I am quite capable of focusing when I need to.” He turns away from Hubert, leans against the window and looks down. “My, this is high.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ferdinand, please," Hubert says, an edge of...</span>
  <em>
    <span>something </span>
  </em>
  <span>creeping into his voice. "I </span>
  <em>
    <span>will</span>
  </em>
  <span> go on to my office without you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, alright,” Ferdinand says breezily. “Lead me away, my good man.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert scoffs at the form of address and doesn't dignify it with a response. At the end of the hall, they turn inward, away from the windows. Ferdinand notices the change and thinks, </span>
  <em>
    <span>ah</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They turn one more corner and Hubert nearly trips over a man sitting on the floor outside a closed office, his hand tucked under his chin and his eyes shut. He may be snoring slightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah!” says Ferdinand. “Is he alright? Should we call a doctor?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In answer, Hubert just nudges the man with his foot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Huh?" The man starts, gathering his bearings a moment before blinking sleepily up at Hubert. He stifles a yawn. "Ah. Hubert. If you were going to call me here so early, you could've at least granted me the decency of being present."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's hardly early, Linhardt," Hubert scoffs. "Move. I need to get into my office."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hm?" Linhardt asks, then looks back at the door he's leaning against. "Oh," he says, and scoots out of the way so Hubert can unlock the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning,” Ferdinand says, looking down at the man on the floor. He has long green hair pulled back from his face and is wearing a knit sweater. He’s rather strikingly pretty, Ferdinand thinks to himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I fail to see what's so good about it," Linhardt says, climbing to his feet. He squints at Ferdinand a moment, then looks him up and down. "You don't work here, do you?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I do not,” Ferdinand says with a smile. Linhardt is about two inches shorter than he is, and he finds it somewhat of a relief to look down at him instead of up at Hubert. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ah, good," Linhardt says with a small smile back. "I was worried I'd have to pretend to remember your name."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ignoring them both, Hubert enters his office, hanging his bag and his  jacket on the rack just inside before heading over to his desk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ferdinand blinks. “It is Ferdinand von Aegir,” he says, charmed despite Linhardt’s strange comment. Perhaps because of it, actually. “If you work here, why on earth were you sleeping on the floor?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, it was more convenient than heading back to my office and sleeping there," Linhardt answers, as if it's obvious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are paid to sleep? That seems illogical,” Ferdinand says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He's not paid to sleep, but he does it anyway," Hubert complains. "Well? Do I have to invite you in?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It </span>
  <em>
    <span>would</span>
  </em>
  <span> be a nice change of pace," Linhardt says, slipping inside once he catches sight of Hubert's annoyed expression.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ferdinand’s eyes linger on Linhardt’s hair as he moves, then snap to Hubert’s face. “Should I come in as well?” he asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert narrows his eyes at Ferdinand, a frown making its way into his face. "Please do," he says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How gracious,” Ferdinand says, entering and immediately making himself at home in the chair across from Hubert’s desk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Linhardt," Hubert begins, circling the man like a vulture, "Did Bernadetta tell you I have an important job for you?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're really scary when you get like this, you know," Linhardt sighs, sounding miserable. "I don't suppose this job is something that can be delegated?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Absolutely not," Hubert answers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fine, then. But I'm warning you — I got very little sleep last night and am not at my best today," Linhardt says through a yawn, as if to make his point. "It might be better for everyone if you give the job to Ladislava, instead."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ladislava actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>does her job</span>
  </em>
  <span>," Hubert says. "If you're going to be shunning your work anyway, you can at least keep Ferdinand entertained during the Blue Lions meeting this morning."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Linhardt blinks. "Oh, is that all?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am not a child,” Ferdinand says, scowling. “I hardly need to be minded.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I believe I said </span>
  <em>
    <span>entertained</span>
  </em>
  <span>," Hubert clarifies, raising an eyebrow at Ferdinand. "Consider yourself a guest. Unless you want to sit in my office alone for hours? I may have some legal texts you could read, if you're looking to entertain yourself."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have no qualms about reading legal texts,” Ferdinand says, haughtily. “I may not be a barrister, but I am well-educated in many disciplines, as befitting a Duke’s son, so you can stop your condescension at any time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Condescension</span>
  </em>
  <span>?" Hubert asks. "This is what comes of trying to be thoughtful? Very well, I'll stop trying."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Linhardt's eyebrows climb toward his hairline as he watches the back and forth. He backs slowly toward the door. When there's a break in the conversation, he says, "Well, this suits me just fine. I'm in the middle of some groundbreaking research, anyway. Another strange temporal break occurred near the river the other night and I—,"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Near the river?” Ferdinand cuts in. “Where?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hm? Oh, by the old bridge. Why?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You said a temporal break,” Ferdinand says, leaning forward. “Which night was this?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beside him, Hubert has fallen silent, brows furrowed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The night before last," Linhardt says, still looking between Ferdinand and Hubert with raised eyebrows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I fell into the river the night before last! From Enbarr bridge!” Ferdinand gasps, excited. “You noticed a distortion in time that night? That was me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At Linhardt's blank expression, Hubert supplies, "Ferdinand claims to be from 1887."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Is that so?" Linhardt asks, eyes widening. He studies Ferdinand with newfound interest. "Now, that is </span>
  <em>
    <span>fascinating. </span>
  </em>
  <span>So you fell from the bridge in 1887 and ended up in 2020?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, it was quite disconcerting,” Ferdinand says, eyes glued to Linhardt. “I cannot say I understand much of this brave new world yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You believe this?" Hubert asks Linhardt, tone considering, rather than judgmental. Lazy though Linhardt may be, Hubert has never denied that the man possesses a brilliant mind — one that got 7/8ths of the way through a graduate program in quantum physics before deciding that law school would be less work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Linhardt nods. "Oh, yes. This is a recurring phenomenon I've been studying for a while now. I'd never considered the possibility that the quantum rift would allow </span>
  <em>
    <span>people</span>
  </em>
  <span> to pass between times, but all things considered, it certainly makes sense."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could show you where it was on the bridge, if you would be interested,” Ferdinand offers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Absolutely. You know, Hubert, I've changed my mind. I'm more than happy to entertain Ferdinand while you're in your meeting," Linhardt says, his earlier sleepiness entirely forgotten. He takes Ferdinand's hand and starts dragging him out of Hubert's office. "Let's go discuss this further in my office. I'd like to take notes."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ferdinand flushes slightly, eyes wide, but grins as he turns back to Hubert. “I will be with Linhardt if you are looking for me,” he says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert scowls, watching them go. Something about that exchange leaves him feeling uneasy. He can still hear Linhardt's voice, steadily getting quieter as he drags Ferdinand away, and he worries. Ferdinand can take care of himself, Hubert's certain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sits at his desk and tries to prepare for the meeting, but his thoughts keep drifting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's just that Linhardt can be thoughtless, and Ferdinand is both injured </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> confused about the modern world — amnesiac or time-traveler, whichever he may be. For a moment, Hubert considers checking on them, just to make sure Ferdinand is settled and Linhardt isn't taking advantage of him, but then he notices the time and makes for the conference room instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edelgard looks up as he approaches, her hair pinned up for this meeting. She gives him a sly smile, glancing once at Dorothea on her other side. “Good morning, Hubert,” she says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert stills when he sees that smile and shoots Dorothea his coldest glare. "Edelgard," he says, "I apologize for the late arrival. It's been a...hectic morning."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So I’ve heard,” Edelgard replies. “I do hope that you’ll introduce your new friend to me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Behind her, Dorothea winks at Hubert. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"As I'm sure Dorothea could have attested, were she not intentionally misstating the situation, he is hardly a friend."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I assumed so, but I’m glad to have you confirm that you’re dating,” Edelgard says with a raised brow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span>—," Hubert starts, then stops. Trying a calmer approach, he begins again, "I'm not dating Ferdinand, nor is he a friend. In fact, after work, I intend to drop him off at his home and never see him again."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert tries not to let that thought bother him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see,” Edelgard says, her second brow joining the first near her hairline. “In that case, then, I suppose I don’t need to be introduced.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know where he lives, Hubie? Why not drop him off after the hospital yesterday?” Dorothea asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a long moment, Hubert debates not answering. "He...claims to live in a museum."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This conversation is not going how Hubert had hoped. There’s a long moment of silence, and then Edelgard says, “Ah.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Indeed,” Dorothea says in the same fakey accent she used earlier. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I… don't particularly want to talk about it," Hubert says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ooh, did someone have a one-night stand?” comes a voice over Hubert’s shoulder. “I never pegged you as a hit with the ladies, but you learn something new every day!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning, Sylvain,” Edelgard says, as Dorothea rolls her eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Please refrain from making conjectures into my private life," Hubert says through gritted teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sorry about him," Ingrid says, coming in behind Sylvain. She pinches the redhead's arm. "He promised to be on his </span>
  <em>
    <span>best behavior</span>
  </em>
  <span> for this meeting."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey! Have I not kept my promise so far? Annoying </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> dick can't be that bad,” Sylvain hisses, jerking his arm away from Ingrid. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doing anything outside of standard business etiquette is breaking your promise, asshole,” says Felix, appearing from nowhere to level his customary glare at Sylvain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi boys,” says Dorothea, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. “Hey Ingrid. Where’s your erstwhile king?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm here," a deeper voice says, Dimitri joining his co-workers in the rapidly filling conference room. "Morning, El."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He appears from the deeps,” Dorothea whispers, dramatically. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, are we narrating him now?” Sylvain asks, whipping around. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Morning, Dimitri,” Edelgard says warmly. “How are things?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well enough," Dimitri says, crossing his arms. "Eager to get these discussions over with."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, you act as though this wasn’t your idea to start with,” Edelgard says, still smiling faintly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That doesn’t mean it’s a fun or easy process,” Felix says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Down, boy,” Dorothea snaps, pointing at Felix. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did nothing to you!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Felix," Dimitri chides, despite the clear fondness in his voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Didn't someone mention getting this over with?" Hubert asks, interrupting before they could dive further off-course. The Blue Lion execs unnerve him. He doesn't trust them. The sooner they can end this meeting and he can get back to — that is, the sooner they can end this meeting, the better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, we do have a schedule to keep,” Edelgard says. “Please, have a seat.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t keep Hubie’s boyfriend waiting. Who </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows </span>
  </em>
  <span>what Linhardt is doing to him right now,” Dorothea says, pouting at Hubert. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably nothing good,” Sylvain says, chiming in immediately despite having no idea what Dorothea is talking about. He keeps his eyes on Hubert as he circles the table to his seat. “That Linhardt, you know how he is. A total maniac.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hubert has a boyfriend?" Ingrid asks. "Congratulations. I… guess."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Can we </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span> move on?" Hubert asks, shuffling his papers and shooting Dorothea a glare. "I have some questions regarding the distribution agreements that were sent over last week."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ferdinand, at this moment, is sinking into the plush cushions of a sofa, his entire field of vision taken up by one very excited scholar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know,” he says, staring deep into stormy blue eyes, “I do not remember what it felt like to pass through, because I was rather distracted by a bullet wound.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Linhardt tuts. "Shame. If you do remember any details, be sure to let me know."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will be sure to do so,” Ferdinand says, sinking further into the couch. It’s getting very hard to stay upright. He wasn’t aware sofas were this… deep. “Did you have any other questions?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm sure I'll think of some," Linhardt asked, watching Ferdinand with faint amusement. "Would I be correct in assuming you'd like to go back?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, of course!” Ferdinand says, as fervently as possible with his entire backside being swallowed by plush furniture. “I mean… I have a duty I need to fulfill. I have to go back.” Ferdinand’s entire life thus far has been aimed at one goal. He doesn’t know who he is without the confines of duty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sounds tedious. I wouldn't want to go back, if I were you," Linhardt says. "But I suppose I can figure something out. I may have figured out a formula to predict these anomalies."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have? Do you think I would be able to go back the way I came?” Ferdinand blinks. Linhardt is very close to him, and pretty, and he smells nice. This is the exact sort of thing that disappoints his father, a small piece of his brain informs him. He brushes it away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well," Linhardt says, drawing out the word. He sinks back onto the couch, mirroring Ferdinand's position. His knee knocks against Ferdinand's and stays there. "I suppose there's no guarantee that the temporal link stays fixed to the same point. You could end up anywhere, really."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is there a way you can predict that? Because if I am not going to go home, then I do not want to leave,” Ferdinand says, trying not to focus on how warm Linhardt’s knee is against his own. “I would rather not repeat the process of temporal readjustment, as you’ve called it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, I can run some numbers. I think the chances of you ending up elsewhere are low."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm,” Ferdinand says. “How </span>
  <em>
    <span>low</span>
  </em>
  <span> is low?” He likes Linhardt’s voice, too, and how he perks up when he gets excited. This is going to become a problem, and quickly. He needs to think of something else. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"A very good question, Ferdinand! I'll let you know when I have a better answer for you, hm?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please do,” Ferdinand says faintly. He wonders what Hubert is doing. He did say he had an important meeting. What did that look like in 2020? Ferdinand has only the political socializing of the 1880s to compare it to. He imagines Hubert leaning against a table in a lavishly decorated salon, drinking a glass of champagne and holding a cigar, conversing in his clipped, solemn tones with members of state. He would look good in silver, Ferdinand thinks vaguely, conjuring up one of the lavish outfits he’s seen recently— well. Recently for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A long coat, perhaps. Dark with silver accents. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Linhardt snaps his fingers in front of Ferdinand's face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah,” Ferdinand says, jumping. “My apologies.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, I really don't mind if you listen or not. Goddess knows I don't pay attention to most things Hubert or Edelgard tell me," Linhardt says with a wave of his hand. "But would you say you're normally a spacey person? I would worry about unexpected personality shifts resulting from passing through an unstable rift, if not." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… I suppose I’ve been known to daydream,” Ferdinand says, blinking and slipping further down the couch. His whole leg is pressed up against Linhardt’s now. “Do you think the rift could have had an effect on my health?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Linhardt makes a thoughtful sound. "Well, there's really no way of knowing. Do </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> think it affected your health?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think the bullet affected my health much more, to be honest,” Ferdinand says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Linhardt can reply, the door of the office opens. Ferdinand has to practically roll over on the couch to turn his head. He sees a head of blue hair poke into the room, followed by a body attached to it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Linhardt!” says the blue head. Ferdinand can’t see details from his position. “Woah, you’ve got a friend! Who’s this? Is he new here?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Caspar," Linhardt says, voice cheery.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh! You're Hubert's new boyfriend," a second new arrival says, a woman with a heavy accent. She’s the pink-haired one who was with Caspar earlier. Hubert said her name was Petra. "It is nice to meet you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ah," Linhardt says, thoughtfully, "I </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>wondered if there was something there."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Ferdinand asks, frowning. He glances at Linhardt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well that’s cool,” Caspar says. “I’m happy for you, man.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh! When was the word boyfriend coined?" Linhardt asks. While the question seems to be directed at Ferdinand, he doesn't wait for an answer. "It must've been after your time. It's the same as — well, you know — paramour, suitor, gentleman caller."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ferdinand goes pink. “Hubert and I?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Lin,” Caspar says, spinning Linhardt’s desk chair around and sitting in it backwards. “Do you ever think about how, like, all of the top execs at this place are gay? Is that discrimination? Do you think we should hire some straight people— wait, wait.” He stops, then waves his hands in front of his face. “After his time how?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, Ferdinand is from 1887," Linhardt explains.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So are you saying that you're </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>dating Hubert?" the woman asks, perching on the arm of the couch behind Linhardt. "Dorothea must have been mistaken. Unless...does </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hubert</span>
  </em>
  <span> know that you're not dating Hubert?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am sorry, my dear lady,” Ferdinand says, nearly flat on his back on the couch. “Do you mean courting? We are </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> courting. I do not even think he likes me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Woah, 1887? That’s so cool!” Caspar chirps. “Did he come through one of your time warp things, Linhardt?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petra leans over Linhardt to pat Ferdinand sympathetically on the knee. "That's okay. He doesn't like very many people."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That does seem to be the case," Linhardt tells Caspar, speaking at the exact same time as Petra. "Judging from his accounts, he fell through the rift just as it was closing."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, I think,” Ferdinand says to Petra. He feels disappointed, somehow, but isn’t sure exactly why. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caspar whistles. “That makes no fucking sense, but okay.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I can assure you it makes perfect sense, Caspar, you just don't know enough to understand it." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're welcome. He grows on you," Petra says, then pauses. "No, wait. I mean that the other way around. You have to grow on him." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, maybe you need to explain it again,” Caspar is saying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ferdinand frowns up at Petra. “Do you think so? He seems rather in a hurry to get rid of me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He just likes you to think that," Petra assures Ferdinand. "If he disliked you, he would have succeeded getting rid of you already."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Caspar, we've been over this dozens of times," Linhardt sighs. "If you didn't retain it any of those times, why would this time be any different?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno, I’ll listen better this time?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ferdinand tries to block Caspar’s voice out. “Is it a power play of some kind? That seems rather unscrupulous.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's more of a," Petra stops, snaps her fingers, trying to remember the expression. "Defense — no, </span>
  <em>
    <span>security</span>
  </em>
  <span> blanket. He doesn't trust easily."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Linhardt snorts. He's watching Petra, now, tuning back into her and Ferdinand's conversation. "That's understating it a bit, don't you think?" he asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hubert, you mean?” Ferdinand asks, looking up at Linhardt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, yes," Linhardt says. "Hubert's a mess."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see,” Ferdinand says, frowning. “He seems rather well put together, though. His apartment is very clean.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Linhardt sits up very abruptly, leaning in toward Ferdinand with a frightening gleam in his eyes. "You've seen Hubert's apartment?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ferdinand blinks. “Yes, of course. I stayed there last night.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caspar stops spinning his chair. “You WHAT?” he nearly yells. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Dorothea and Edelgard are the only ones who've had the privilege," Linhardt explains. "And none of us can believe a word of the stories Dorothea's spun about the place."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Does he really sleep in a coffin?" Petra asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"None of us except for Petra, apparently," Linhardt corrects.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petra punches him lightly on the arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He sleeps in a bed,” Ferdinand says, frowning. Hubert isn’t Dracula, though he really can see the comparison. “Though I can’t say it is very comfortable.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“YOU SLEPT IN HIS BED?” Caspar shrieks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ah, so there </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> something there?" Linhardt asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did not sleep in his bed,” Ferdinand says, rolling his eyes. “I merely fell onto it. Well, Hubert knocked me onto it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petra's eyes go impossibly wide.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fascinating," Linhardt says. "To be perfectly candid, I hadn't pegged him as a top."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ferdinand scowls. “I do not know what that means, nor do I care to. Hubert is a difficult person and we are </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> courting, nor doing anything else improper. I am merely a guest in his household.” With a monumental effort, he leverages himself up into a sitting position. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Linhardt holds his hands up in a gesture of mock-surrender. "Alright, alright. We'll take your word for it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please see that you do,” Ferdinand sniffs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petra clears her throat, awkwardly. "But so Hubert's apartment is...normal?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think my definition of </span>
  <em>
    <span>normal</span>
  </em>
  <span> is perhaps a bit outdated,” Ferdinand sighs, “but it is sparsely decorated, clean, and well lit. He has many books. Is that normal?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dude, most people decorate their homes,” Caspar says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I haven’t had the chance to see,” Ferdinand says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Holy shit,” Caspar replies, eyes widening. “You haven’t seen </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He looks at Linhardt. “He hasn’t seen anything! Does he even know what the internet is?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I would assume not, since the internet wasn't invented until about a hundred years after he fell through the rift. Unless Hubert's explained it to you?" Linhardt asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He has not,” Ferdinand sighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Linhardt,” Caspar says, beseechingly. “Can I use your computer?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sure," Linhardt says. "As long as you're not planning to show him porn, I don't care."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He needs to see nyan cat,” Caspar announces. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Woah, that's pretty high-level stuff to start with," Linhardt says. "Don't you think we should ease him into it with regular cat videos first?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nyan cat…." Petra muses. "Oh, I remember now! Those videos were not very funny."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Videos?” Ferdinand asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caspar stands up and moves behind Linhardt’s desk, tapping at something. “Come here,” he says, waving to Ferdinand. “Let me show you the world.” </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>no footnotes in this one! i think the things ferdinand does not understand are pretty obvious here.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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